


Close Your Eyes, I'll Sing Your Favorite Song

by DabMyWetties



Series: Randomly Inspired Oneshots [3]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Anxiety, Best Friends, Comfort, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DabMyWetties/pseuds/DabMyWetties
Summary: “You don’t owe anyone anything.” He pauses. Humor can be tricky at times like this, but he goes for it. “Except that twenty bucks you still owe me.”





	Close Your Eyes, I'll Sing Your Favorite Song

“Are you sure?” Scott asks, brow furrowed.

Mitch nods at him, his reassuring smile almost entirely convincing. “I just need some rest. Go have fun! I’m fine.”

Scott’s not entirely convinced by that smile or those words, but he knows well enough not to push too much. He ruffles Mitch’s hair and gets a slap to the shoulder in return. They grin at each other.  “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I’ll come back.”

He’s not entirely sure how he’d come back once he’s on the boat, land a distant memory. Scott would figure something out, though. Mitch’s bouts of anxiousness and discomfort aren’t new and he can spot one a mile away even when Mitch insists he’s fine.

And he is fine, in the grand scheme of things. He’s not freaking out. There are no tears. He’s just weary, and on edge, and a little tired of people in general. If he wants some solitude, that’s what Scott will give him.

Still. He’ll make them turn the boat around if he has to.

Scott intersperses his day’s adventures on the high seas - or, more accurately, the placid Hawaiian waters - with what he hopes are neutral and not-too-frequent check-ins with Mitch. He gets fairly neutral replies. Nothing to worry about, really, but, then again, they’re nothing to alleviate his concern either.

It’s dusk as they approach the dock and nearly dark when they get back to the hotel. Scott waves off an invite from the group to continue drinking at the bar, instead heading to Mitch’s room. He’d texted that they were back on land and hadn’t received a reply yet. There’s no answer to his gentle knock so he lets himself in.

Mitch is sitting out on the balcony, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his skinny legs. “Hey,” Scott calls quietly as he walks across the room towards the open door leading outside. “You didn’t answer my text. Just seeing if you want to…” he trails off as reaches the doorway and takes stock of the face looking back at him. Mitch is decidedly less fine than he was earlier. His eyes are red rimmed and his expression is somewhere between tense and utterly exhausted. It’s clear he hasn’t had the best day.

“Aw, Mitchy,” Scott murmurs, quickly closing the few steps between them and shoving his way onto the deck chair Mitch is sitting in until he can get an arm around him. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Mitch snorts. “I’m fine, sis. I can deal. What were you gonna do, turn the boat around?”  

“Uh. Yeah,” Scott replies. He rearranges them some more until they’re both stretched out, Mitch cuddled against his side.

Rather than argue with him, Mitch just sighs. “Yeah, you would. I should’ve gone. The kids have been freaking out all day.”

There are a few wisps of color left in the sky at the horizon as Scott looks out over the water. “You don’t owe social media a boat trip if you don’t feel up to it.” At Mitch’s noncommittal grunt, Scott presses on. “You don’t owe anyone anything.” He pauses. Humor can be tricky at times like this, but he goes for it. “Except that twenty bucks you still owe me.”

He gets a snort in response but he can feel Mitch relax against him a little. He’s less like an overwound guitar string, less likely to snap if plucked just a bit too hard.

“Just, y’know,” Mitch murmurs after a enough time for the horizon to lose any color that remained. “I hate when I get like this. Then they were saying that you guys ditched me, and I felt guilty because if I’d just gone on the damn boat thing everyone wouldn’t be blaming you, and it just…”

“Everyone was saying we ditched you?” Scott asks. “Or were there a few shitty comments?”

“Well, I mean… there were a few shitty comments. But everyone was blowing up asking where I was. I should’ve gone. People got riled up.”

“Mitchy,” Scott pulls him closer. “You don’t owe social media _anything_ \- not a boat trip, not random selfies, not anything you don’t want to share. They get riled up no matter what. You do what you’re okay with.”

“Still,” Mitch tries to protest, but Scott can see where this is going. He’s heading for a spiral of guilt and self-blame.

“Shush. Here are your options,” Scott says gently but firmly. “We’re going to sit here just like this for a little while because I’m exhausted and you’re comfortable. After that, we’ll either sit here just like this for the rest of the night, or you’ll go to bed, or we’ll go join everyone at the bar for a few drinks. That’s entirely up to you. Social media is not an option for the next few hours.”

The only sound for some indeterminate amount of time is the ebb and flow of unseen waves washing over the beach. Scott begins to hum along, then starts to sing softly.

 _And if you say you're okay_  
_I'm gonna heal you anyway_  
_Promise I'll always be there_  
_Promise I'll be the cure_

**Author's Note:**

> Another head-clearer. 
> 
> It's finals week and I am almost done!


End file.
